


Into You

by KarboniteManeuver



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angry Sex, Day 8, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Not sure if this counts but whatever, Oral Sex, Snark, mutual hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 16:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarboniteManeuver/pseuds/KarboniteManeuver
Summary: Day Eight: Angry SexAfter his loss of Izuna, Madara and Tobirama manage to begrudgingly strike a less than mutual deal.





	Into You

There was no way Hashirama wouldn’t be at least a little bit angry if he ever found out. Or worse, and perhaps more likely... disappointed. 

To think that two men that he had held in such esteem could allow such ugliness to blossom between them, a rage that could only be coaxed into submission as Tobirama paid penance— on his knees —to the harshly lit, wild-haired god, before him. 

No… it wasn’t with love that he’d found himself, knees pressed harshly into the cold, compacted earth of the storehouse. The thought that any positive, soft or even remotely human emotion could exist within any far flung part of himself, as his chin was gripped hard enough to bruise, was laughable, at best. But, the marks were always left so that they could be easily explained away, even beneath his brother’s appraising eyes— Hashirama always overly concerned about those closest to him, whether it was in his own best interests or not. 

Madara’s hand slides into his hair, jerking him forward unapologetically. The tip of his cock smearing precome over Tobirama’s lips, like the thick lacquer of rogue that demarcated the women in the small towns that dotted the map during the campaigns. They had offered inexpensive ‘comforts’, the closest thing to a ‘loving’ embrace to the battle worn soldiers, bodies weary-- heavy beneath armor that had worn marks into their shoulders. This is the past that they share, beyond Izuna, beyond Hashirama, beyond even themselves. 

It is in this, a war-torn reality framed, that Tobirama knows better than to even bother trying to fight it. This was his price to pay, his weight to bare. Ultimately, when the moment had struck, it had been between only him and Izuna. Hearts racing as they had met each other, strike for strike, a frenzy, almost intimate. Hours of battle drew sweat from every pore to coat their bodies, tangled in one another at sword point. It soaked into the fabric, beneath the heavy armor like some sort of indelible stain, as though tantamount to what would come to pass... Before finally, his blade landed firm, digging through the blood tarnished armor and then found purchase in the well-defined flesh below. 

Tobirama opens his mouth slowly, wanting nothing more than to bite down, to let the coiling hatred strike out, venomous, as teeth sink into tender flesh. The thought of bringing Madara down to his level, to his knees, head pulled back, throat bared— sliding his blade home to extinguish the man completely... it’s tantalizing, and in this he finds solace. The idea is a piece of driftwood out at sea, to anchor his sanity to, on the nights that Madara keeps him waiting in the bitter cold on the far edges of Konoha. Waiting on whatever stupid whim happens to strike him for that evening.

Madara takes advantage of his opportunity, an ‘opening’ in his foe’s defenses, in this case lending itself to the more literal. Like in so many things, he’s a man groomed towards power and success, he leans into it and fills Tobirama’s mouth with slight bitterness and smooth skin. 

Ambitious and petty as he is, he goes too deep without any forewarning and Tobirama does his best to squelch the reflex, but can’t stop the gag that wracks through him. Each muscle tightens, working to repel the intrusion as the head of Madara’s cock presses to the back of his throat with zero work up. Involuntarily he pulls as far away as the hands tangled in his hair will let him. His mouth full of too much spit, too much precome and slowly it leaks out from around Madara’s cock, that he has ‘graciously’ pulled an inch or so back to compensate. The slick mixture slips fully from his lips, sticky as it trails down his chin then drips onto the dusty ground below with a sort of finality-- to connect their houses, in blood, now also in come and spit...

And Madara, being the absolutely insufferable bastard that he is, has the audacity to look down at him, in this situation that he has caused, almost in its entirety and laugh— Tobirama just another pawn, in an unwelcome game of ego and strategy.

Rage sparks through every inch of his being, one neuron to the next, roused to action, filled with the single-minded thought that he’s going to kill Madara, given the first chance and piss, ceremoniously, along the length of his grave. 

Hashirama would get over his paramour, in time. Besides, it wasn’t as though he wasn’t already engaged, set towards marriage come spring. He hardly needed to be wasting his energies with the Uchiha in anything more than cordial decorum. Tobirama knew better than anyone the strain that filling the newly crafted role of Hokage was putting on his elder brother.

The man was already trying to split his attentions in too many different directions as it was— between stoking the fledgling embers with Mito, requisite for their marriage bed, to cultivating the sewn seeds of the growing Konoha and wedding all of the clans in a single common goal, there shouldn’t have been a single thought spared to Madara Uchiha. 

Tobirama takes a deep breath around the encroaching weight of flesh, back, further into his mouth, breathing out through his nose as he allows Madara to work deeper into him. He’s doing his best to stifle both the urge to bite down, and the secondary urge to gag again purely out of spite. It wasn’t that Madara was particularly unattractive, he shared the same flawless porcelain skin, and sleek dark hair that the rest of his clan did. It wasn’t that his face was even bad to look at, or that his body wasn’t hewn from the same stone that years of diligent practice had created so many of the men of their time… His attitude however… It was a miracle that any of the Uchiha had ever managed to procreate given their tendency toward, he mentally gestured vaguely at the concept of whatever it was that at all the Uchiha seemed to share like some kind of brain parasite. Hubris, indifference, single-mindedness? Was there a single word to describe the Uchiha experience, particularly that of their leader, that didn’t involve some semblance of swearing or frustration? Surely Hashirama would be able to sing praises, but he himself, on this night, the back of his throat naggingly raw as he allowed himself to be used, yet again… No, that approbation would have to come from another, less versed in their seemingly inherently cruel and petulant nature.

His fingers tightened into a fist, doing his best to shift his focus-- he had agreed to this, but it didn’t mean he had to be present for the humiliation. Madara had stopped and was staring down at him with thinly veiled detest, edged in his usual gilded arrogance. 

“What’s the matter, princess? Too busy thinking about my dear, late brother? Maybe things would’ve been different if you’d gotten him under you…” 

Tobirama visibly pulls back, the compact muscle of his forearm brushing away Madara’s arm and by proxy, the hand in his hair, like the irritance it had been since he first realized that it effectively stopped Tobirama from fighting back. The minor shock at such a crude and casual mention of Izuna gives way to disgust and he can’t help but shoot back, 

“Not all of us want to fuck our brothers, Madara.” 

The blow isn’t unexpected, nor wholly unwelcome, but he knows his cheekiness is going to cost him. Dealing with Madara, with any of the Uchiha in general, had always, unironically, been like playing with the fire that had found itself within the heart and representation of their clan. 

He raises his hand to his cheek, a light touch to the warmth where full palm had struck him, his eyes raise and meet the other man’s, cold but otherwise unreadable. His comment had been uncalled for, he knew that. More unnerving though was that he’d had the same idea himself. Maybe things could’ve been different, it wasn’t as though Izuna had been hard to look at. However, he, like Madara had had all the same failings. 

A foot raises and firmly connects with his shoulder as he’s slammed back onto his ass, the top of his spine harshly greeting the thick wooden wall of the storeroom with enough force to shake it. The experience far more intimate a meeting than he’d ever desired, despite the small moment of pride at the sturdiness of his brother’s handiwork and ever-growing finesse with his wood release technique. The muscles of back protest almost immediately, and Madara closes the distance in an authoritative step, staring down at him, eyes narrowed. 

“You certainly have a mouth on you, despite being the one on your knees.”

“Maybe I just need to suck your cock that badly?”

“What, your brother wasn’t available?”

“I told you that wasn’t my thing, he’s the one who wants to spread for you…”

“And yet, here you are…”

The man stands there, unashamed, cock still attentive, waiting for him with the sheen of spit and precome. Tobirama pushes the thought out of his mind as quickly as it comes— that he should just play nice, take the armistice for what it was, try to enjoy himself, that he was one to talk of pride despite his own nature. 

He takes Madara back in hand, then into his mouth-- taking him deep once more, back where he had been, into the position that he was searing into Tobirama’s flesh. He had allowed his hand to move down, tentatively rubbing over himself— and did his best to ignore the appraising smirk the sight is met with. 

“See what happens when you just decide to behave? Maybe I’ll even let you swallow this time instead of decorating your face before I send you back to your brother…”

Tobirama feels his face twitch slightly in annoyance, but does his damnedest to not rise to it, to lose himself in sensation, into the hot and heavy weight pressed to his tongue. He tightens his grip on himself, taunting himself to full hardness as his cock presses irritatingly against the confines of his pants— testament to everything the had defined his experiences with Madara thus far. 

He pulls away slightly, maintaining suction before he releases it, running his tongue the length of the underside of Madara’s cock, sliding up the head to tongue at the slit, drawing forth a groan from the other man. 

Madara has moved to cage him, arms above him resting against firmly against the wall, bearing the man’s weight, and it’s the frigid moonlight that casts the only definition over his face.

Tobirama could close his eyes, he could try to forget who this was, erase the face and let his mind supply anyone else, or he could watch. Allow himself to untangle the complications that are the Uchiha, incarnate. Dismantling one by one until the man becomes slack with desire, until he sees Madara stripped of everything, soul bared for just a moment— being one of the sole people to witness the humanity tucked so far beneath.

Madara increases the pace, thrusting into the mouth before him, Tobirama was now allowing himself to be used fully, without his usual reservations or resistance. The Uchiha keeps catching glimpses of the man’s hand, having begrudgingly slid beneath the layers of clothing to work himself, gently thrusting forward into his hand at the mere pressure of the cock, warm within the confines of his mouth. 

He could fuck him-- push him to the point of breaking, until his name is the only thing on his Tobirama’s lips, until he is the only thought in Tobirama’s head-- Madara considers distantly. In the sleeping silence of Konoha, frozen around them, there was no one to hear the moans, the slapping of flesh and muttered expletives. Everything had been cloaked and muted in the weight of snowfall, effectively pausing the world around them. The reality of the usual evening bustle was already non-existent, the townspeople having already sought the cloying warmth of shelter, unaware of the sacrilege that was already happening just on the edge of their beloved town.  
Tobirama pulls back, wet cock pulling from his mouth with an abrupt pop of the suction breaking and glares up at him. The Senju unceremoniously rubs his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking it pointedly. 

“Don’t even fucking think about it.” 

“Hm?” Madara smiles, all teeth, looking far more predatory than the even remotely feigned innocence he had likely been going for.

“If you think I’m letting you fuck me in this frigid weather, you’ve got another thing coming.” 

“The lady doth protest too much” He purrs and it takes absolutely everything in Tobirama not to elbow Madara in the balls right then and there.


End file.
